


Borrow Me A Night

by Cahaya (Tarlaith)



Series: Half A Future [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Emotional pain, Half A Blowjob, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Vasquez is a saint, kind of, there's some licking though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 09:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10533450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlaith/pseuds/Cahaya
Summary: Billy doesn't know how to deal with Goodnight leaving. Luckily, he has Vasquez to maim... err, help him cope.





	

By the time Billy's hands stop trembling, the whiskey is almost empty. The last few drops aren't worth wetting the glass again, so he brings the bottle to his mouth and licks them from the rim. He doesn't feel the burn any more – hasn't for a few glasses now, though he can't remember how many.

When he sets the bottle down, the seat beside him is still empty. Goodnight, the bastard, is gone. His big, flowery promises dissolved into thin air almost as fast as his enthusiasm, and he snuck off, leaving Billy to die.

Billy traces his fingertip down the side of the bottle. It sticks to the worm-eaten bar until he increases the pressure and it is forced loose, sliding over the wood with a scraping sound that make goosebumps tingle down Billy's spine. He keeps pushing until the bottle tilts over the edge of the wood, swaying for a second before giving in to gravity and crashing to the floor. Shards splash high and glint in the lamplight like snow crystals, then clatter to the floor like shrill rain.

All things considered, he really should have expected it.

The silence returns more chafing than before. With a swoop of his fist Billy sends his glass down after. This time, the clink before it bursts is the loudest.

It's not like he hadn't warned him.

Billy squints at the far end of the bar, where a stack of clean glasses perch drying on a ruddy towel. He slides off his stool and takes a swaying step but a wave of nausea hits him and he grasps the bar for balance. Once the world decides to stand still again, he catches the edge of the cloth and tugs, imagining each glass to be one of Goodnight's promises as they crash to the floor. 'Come with me' – clank. 'You're my friend' – splinter. 'I lo–'

“See what I give about your pretty words?!” Billy growls and flings the towel away. It floats to the floor almost gently, covering a mound of shards. Like earth settling over a grave.

Scoffing, Billy turns to the tables and stumbles right into a warm, solid body that smells like smoke, night air and dry grass.

“ _Guille_.”

Billy pushes past Vasquez, who thankfully doesn't try to touch him; he would probably lose a finger. There's a bottle on the table in front of him and he smashes it, but only the lower end comes off. A gulp of amber liquid spills into the cracks between the planks. Billy picks up the half that's not yet broken and the wet glass slips right through his hands, the edges biting like a vicious cat. The burn is half cut and half liquor. Billy slams the bottle down and feels the tickle of flying shards on his pants.

“That's enough, _chorlito_.”

A hand curls around Billy's arm and he whips around, ripping free with a snarl. Vasquez frowns like he wants to say something, but doesn't. They stare at each other for a moment, gauging their chances in a fight, and then Billy turns around and walks out the door.

He fumbles for a cigarette and realizes that Goodnight must've taken them, the far-sighted bastard. 

“ _Chorlitejo_.”

Billy scowls. “ _What?!_ ”

Vasquez comes up behind him and presses a cigarette into his hand, already lit. “Here.”

It's a kindness Billy isn't used to – except from one person – and it hurts. But he's not proud enough to refuse, so he takes it, bringing it to his lips and inhaling while Vasquez watches him. Smoke pools between them, curling in the air.

He only speaks up when all that's left is a gleaming stub. “You better?”

“Does it _look like it_?!”

It comes out louder and more screechy than he intended, and his voice breaks in the middle. Billy turns away, coughing.

“You're not the only one angry, you know.”

Billy glares. “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Just because you knew him longest doesn't mean we don't care that he turned tail on us.”

But it's exactly that, Billy thinks, suddenly alight with rage. He tosses the cigarette away and grabs Vasquez, twisting his hands into his shirt. “You didn't know him,” he rasps, voice rough from the smoke. “What right do you have to be angry?”

His hands are shaking again, and Billy feels it now because Vasquez's body and gaze are calm. He's steady, always steady.

“More than you know.”

There is not a hint of fear in his serious face. It riles Billy up even more. He shoves Vasquez against the saloon's wall, beside the door, and having to look up to him would feel humiliating were it not the perfect angle to slit his throat.

“You,” he growls, sliding a leg up between Vasquez' to press against his crotch none too gently, “have no fucking idea. You didn't know him.”

Vasquez – to Billy's surprise – doesn't immediately push him off to shoot him, which is slightly disappointing because he'd been looking forward to putting the rowdy Mexican into his place. Apart from the Indian he seems to be the only one worthy to test his strength against. But Vasquez is still against him, arms hanging loosely at his sides, far away from his pistols. And his gaze feels like it's reaching into Billy and pulling out all the ugly things he spent the better part of the night trying to hide. The rage and the hurt and his own failure to follow Goodnight, out of some misguided sense of honor he didn't know he had until he worked side by side with the people of Rose Creek and no one took offense. Heck, they even talked to him. For the first time in a long time, Billy had felt exhilarated to be part of something.

He knew Goodnight thought the same. And he'd wanted to enjoy this together, but good things never last. Maybe, a small voice whispers, that's why Goodnight stuck with him for so long – because it hadn't been as good as Billy believed it was.

“You still here, _chorlito_?”

Billy clenches his hands in Vasquez's shirt, smearing the fabric with blood and the last drops of whiskey. He remembers a time he clung to Goodnight like this – Goodnight, whom he will _never see again_ , never hear that seductive drawl again, or feel the touch of his hands, a bit calloused from holding leather reins, or smell the awful stuff he puts in his hair – and tries to let go, but finds that he can't. He doesn't want to think. Not now and not for the rest of the night.

“I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye,” he whispers and surges up to kiss Vasquez, teeth clacking, as he roughly pulls their bodies against each other.

Vasquez seems stunned for a second, frozen in place, but then he gives back as good as he gets: licking and biting as he hooks his thumbs into Billy's belt loops.

It's easy to grind down into the warmth of Vasquez' thigh, and easier still to squeeze him between his legs. Billy wants to be aroused, to let some other part do the thinking for him. But even that seems impossible, even this part of him has been ruled by Goodnight far too long.

Gritting his teeth he presses harder, bites Vasquez' tongue and licks up his growl, wants to rub himself bloody on the ridges of his teeth.

At least Vasquez doesn't remain unaffected by what they're doing, if the hardness poking Billy's thigh is anything to go by. He chews Vasquez' lip and slides his hands down, smoothing them over his chest to feel the muscles, trace the edge of his ribcage and the sharp curve of his hipbones. Billy tugs off the gun belt and slides his fingers between the buttons of Vasquez' slacks, growling a little when he doesn't get them open on the first try.

Vasquez smirks. “Been _that_ long?”

He tries to help but Billy slaps his hand away and steps back, making Vasquez' breath hitch at the loss of pressure. The surge of power fills Billy with a grim satisfaction. He sinks to his knees and rips the button off. It clatters over the porch, already forgotten before it disappears into the darkness. Billy pries the black fabric apart and Vasquez grabs his hair.

“No teeth.”

There's danger in his voice now. Billy shrugs and pulls Vasquez' cock out. It's uncut; longer than Goodnight's. He smells stronger as well: of sweat and earth and grease. His hair is dark and coarse and not the least bit soft. Billy licks the shaft from root to tip, flattening his tongue against the flesh to feel it tremble. It's salty, with a tang of bitterness beneath it. Billy pushes the hood back with his lips and sucks on the head, laving it with spit.

Vasquez hands tighten in his hair. “ _Pinche cabrón!_ ”

Billy shivers, saliva easing the slide as Vasquez' cock drags along his palate until it hits the back of his throat. He fights down the urge to gag and pulls up again before swallowing him with more force than before, ignoring the yank on his hair and the curses from above. He sucks Vasquez' cock like he has something to prove. Maybe he does. Maybe Goodnight would still be here if he were... more.

The heat inside Billy boils a little higher. His skin itches, feeling too tight all over, making him want to claw his way out of it. His teeth graze Vasquez' cock as he spits it out.

Vasquez lets his head loll back against the wall. “ _Chingate!_ You're good at this.”

Billy gets up, hands flying to his belt. “I had a lot of practice.”

He can feel Vasquez' eyes on him and turns his head away as he shoves his pants down to his knees, revealing his stubbornly flaccid cock. Ignoring it, he licks his palm and reaches between his thighs, spreading the wetness there and shivering as it cools.

“ _Chorlito..._ ” Vasquez groans, sliding closer. Billy beckons him to follow, resting his elbows on the porch rail and pressing his knees together tightly.

Vasquez' breath is heavy behind him but he hesitates.

Billy scowls. “What're you waiting for, _Mexican_?”

“Why does that sound like an insult?” Vasquez grabs him by the hips, then rubs his palms over Billy's ass, thumb stroking between the cheeks. Billy shudders, overcome by how close, how _intimate_ this feels despite this not being Goodnight.

Vasquez' cock brushes the base of Billy's spine, painting a wet trail downwards as it briefly grazes Billy's twitching hole and slides along the sensitive skin until the tip nudges his balls. At least that sparks a bit of heat.

Billy rolls his hips and Vasquez reciprocates, harsh breaths puffing into Billy's neck as he leans over him and thrusts. Billy's balls bounce with the force of it, his limp dick slapping weakly against his leg. It's dry and raw, the spit doing nothing to ease their way, and Billy's heart beats like thunder in a summer storm. Warmth gathers in the spaces between his skin and clothes, sweat forming on his neck and face as they move together, urgent and frantic, like it might be the last time they get to have this.

It might be.

Somewhere around Billy's ear a mosquito buzzes, and his elbows hurt but it doesn't matter. Vasquez' moans and grunts are getting louder in his ears, he's biting Billy's shoulder through the fabric, scraping his teeth along his spine, breath hot and wet in Billy's hair.

Billy leans heavier on one arm, ignoring the flare of pain, and reaches back with the other, grabbing Vasquez' hair and getting a handful of ear instead. He pulls. “Hurry up. You can't take _this_ long.”

Vasquez spits a curse into his neck and yanks on Billy hard enough to make his hold on the rail slip. He scrambles for purchase but Vasquez wraps an arm around his waist and keeps his hips up, nearly folding him in half. Warmth explodes behind Billy's balls and with his face almost between his knees he gets half of it in his face. He shoves Vasquez off, staggering a little and having to lean on him to avoid falling over.

“I'm going to kill you for this,” Billy growls, wipes cum from his lashes and glares at the milky drops. Since he doesn't have anything to dry his hands on, he rubs them on Vasquez' shirt.

“Hey!” Vasquez yelps and catches his hand. His grip is rough and Billy feels too raw to be touched right now but Vasquez doesn't let go. “I have a better idea, _chorlito_.”

He guides Billy back against the porch railing again, this time nudging his naked ass against the rough wood. Then he lowers himself to his knees and reaches for Billy's cock. It looks small in his big hands and Billy feels his face heat. But Vasquez just lets out a thoughtful hum and leans in to lap up a drop of cream. Billy hisses at the first touch of tongue.

“If I get splinters in my ass I'm going to kill you.”

Vasquez chuckles, hot breath tickling Billy's balls, making him push into it. It feels good despite not doing anything. Billy tilts his head back, tangling his clammy fingers into Vasquez' hair, and the lights of Rose Creek blur into a formless gloom as Vasquez gently licks him clean.

After, he pulls up Billy's pants and bodily manhandles him up the saloon stairs, past the room he shared with Goodnight and into the one Vasquez has all to himself. The bed is too narrow for two people but Billy doesn't mind. Vasquez is warm, chest rising and falling, steady as the sea. It feels weird being the one in need of an anchor.

“It's not like he didn't warn me that he was a liar,” Billy says eventually, once the silence settles around them.

Vasquez hums against his neck. “You just hoped he was lying.”

There's no denying it, so Billy doesn't.

He's half asleep when Vasquez suddenly stirs, reaching over him to fumble with his vest, which he carelessly tossed onto the nightstand before laying down. He presses something into Billy's palms that feels rough and familiar. Goodnight's flask.

“He'll come back,” Vasquez says. “He forgot this.”

And Billy's heart thuds a little faster.

**Author's Note:**

> Their next meeting might be a bit smoother... maybe.
> 
>  _chorlito_ / _chorlitejo_ \- Spanish name for plover (Pluvialis), which I thought was sweet. Also, those birds are stupidly fast. (Also also, _cabeza de chorlito_ means birdbrain/knucklehead, so Vasquez' cute nickname has the added benefit of being a veiled insult. Boys ^^)  
>  The other Spanish stuff are not-so-veiled insults.
> 
> Beta-ed by Random Interloper.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


End file.
